Attic

I crept up the stairs. With every step I took, the ancient stairs made a creaking noise. I trembled with every step towards the old attic. I climbed the stairs, reaching the dusty last one after what felt like hours. I put my trembling hand on the dusty doorknob and turned it to the left. As the door squeaked open, I took my now dusty hand of the handle and took a small step inside. It was covered with boxes of any sorts, old clothes of my grandmothers, and ancient books with fading white pages. As gentle as I opened one, the pages still fell out. There were also several empty picture frames covered in dust.

I stepped further into the attic and found enough courage to open one of the boxes. As I did, dust flew into my face. I coughed and heard a box move. I jumped, and quickly closed the flaps of the box. I took two steps further into the attic, and heard another box shift. I jumped, nearly knocking over a tower of boxes.

I saw a dusty figure emerge from behind a pyramid of old brown boxes. He grabbed me by the throat and I collapsed.

This attic was a place of murder.

Reviews

[Nicole]

I thought it was pretty good I liked it. Very detailed. Could have been longer.